


Tourist

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Series: Our Bright, Disturbing Multiverse [2]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Exhibitionism, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A seduction in three acts--or, what Loki does when he's bored and given the opportunity to get laid.</p><p>This is a companion story to "An Unplanned Vacation" and contains an original character. If you'd like to read a sex scene a la carte you may like it, but it's best enjoyed side by side with the main story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inseam

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh...this honestly started out because I really wanted to write the conversation that would lead to a fairly sane young man giving someone head in a fitting room, and turned into a three-chapter exercise in me learning how to write sex scenes. Chapters will be posted alongside their corresponding chapters in "An Unplanned Vacation," but this doesn't really have a ton of plot (he fixes the cable?).
> 
> Please give me some feedback--I happen to be engaged to my beta-reader, which is awesome except for the part where I can't make him read the gay sex scenes I write, so this story hasn't been read by anyone yet except me.

“ _Let's get you set up in a fitting room and I can start taking your measurements.”_

_“That sounds...enjoyable.”_

Bobby could feel his face going red, and he tried to keep his face turned away as he grabbed his measuring tape and notepad and showed Shelly's Hot German Tourist Guy into one of the larger fitting rooms. “So, have you ever been properly fitted for clothes before?”

“Not for some time now.” Hot German Tourist Guy ( _Luke_ , Bobby reminded himself) was half a foot taller than him and slimly built, and dressed in a sort of low-key Rennaissance Faire outfit. “I don't do much shopping. But these clothes are rather old, I would like a new look anyway.”

“I can guarantee that when I'm done with you you'll feel like a new man.” _Shit, poor phrasing, bad phrasing, no flirting with customers,_ but the other man just winked, slowly, and that was maybe even worse because now he was _definitely_ thinking inappropriate thoughts, so he stammered, “W-well, so, shirt size! That's easy. We'll do that first.” He hopped up on the fitting room bench to measure the tourist's neck. “So, uh, how long are you and your friends in town for?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps a week, perhaps two. It depends on how much we find to do here.”

 _And_ that's _not loaded or anything._ “Sounds fun. Are you going to see the sights, then? Hit some museums or shows or something?”

“I had not made any particular plans yet.” The tourist shifted, moving his arm so that Bobby could measure it, and his hand brushed Bobby's side. “Do you know the area? You could recommend some entertainment, maybe.”

“Um, maybe. I mean, I, uh, I grew up around here, I know all the good stuff to see.”

“Perhaps you could show me around, then. A personal tour. You seem to be good company for a lonely man.”

Bobby tried to respond casually to that, only succeeded in making a small “eep” noise, and settled on poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like he was concentrating on taking a chest measurement and not suppressing a blush. _Is he_ trying _to flirt with me, or does he just not speak English that well?_ “M-maybe I could. I do have a day off soon, I know this great lunch place, there are some nice parks to walk through...” _Babbling! Stop!_

When he stepped back to write down all of his measurements and check his size chart, the tourist said, “I like your piercing. Did it hurt to get your tongue pierced?”

“Oh! Um, no. Well, it did a bit at first.”

“Is it pure silver, the stud?”

“Yes. It, um, it was a gift. From my ex. Both of them, actually, the stud and the piercing.” _And then he wanted immediate reciprocity in blowjobs. No! No! Appropriate thoughts!_ “So what kind of shirts do you prefer? I could find you some looser ones, but I think a fitted style would look better.” _It'd show you off better,_ was what he didn't say, because it wouldn't have been appropriate.

“Fitted is fine, in dull silk if it is available, with French cuffs. And a set of silver cufflinks.”

“Ok, fitted, dull silk, French cuffs, silver cufflinks. Do you wear neckties? And while we're at it do you need any socks?”

“One or two ties would be good, and some socks, yes. Do hurry back, though. I am...eager to continue our talk.” Another one of those slow, insinuating winks.

“I'll, uh, be right back.”

 _Green, he's wearing green right now. That's a good color on him. Green, and cobalt, and golden yellow, and charcoal grey..._ He rummaged through the racks, pulling several shirts and coordinating neckties, and snagged a package of socks and a pair of silver cufflinks before he headed back. He didn't go into the fitting room for a moment, hoping that maybe he could get himself together. “I found some things that should work. I'll pass them under the door for you to try on.”

From the other side of the door came, “No, bring them in, please. I have nothing to hide.”

 _Ok, he_ must _be flirting with me, or I'm reading some signals very wrong._ “Um, ok.” Bobby steeled himself and stepped back into the fitting room, desperately not looking at where Hot German Tourist Guy had already unlaced the front of his shirt. “Here, these all have the, uh, the cuffs you wanted, I think they'll look good.” He hung the shirts up on a hook, set the other things down on the bench, and waited nervously for the tourist to give some sign of approval.

“...yes, I like these. The colors are very good, you have an excellent eye.” Without even waiting for a response, the tourist shrugged his shirt off and picked up one of the shirts Bobby had brought. “Perhaps while I am trying these on you can take the measures for trousers.”

“Um, I don't think that would be—”

“Very helpful of you, yes.”

“Well, I need to measure your waist, but I can't do that while you're changing shirts and you aren't really dressed.”

Green eyes met his, and he swallowed hard as the tourist said, “Is that a problem?”

“Uh...no. No, of course not.” He ran the measuring tape around the other man's waist, trying to ignore in the process the smoothness and almost unnatural cool of his skin, and wrote down the measurement as quickly as possible. “Ok, you can...you can try your shirts on now. I just need to get seam lengths.”

He dropped to one knee to get an outseam measurement while above him the tourist pulled on the first shirt he'd grabbed, the green one. “So, uh, what do you do? Like, for work, although I guess if you've got a lot of hobbies—”

“I am a magician.”

“Ooh, like a stage magician? Neat!”

Outseam was easy, and he got it written down quickly, but then that just left the one Bobby had been dreading, the one that _everyone_ got awkward about. Especially when there was definitely _something_ going on, or else the way the man's oddly archaic pants rumpled in the front was _very_ deceiving as to his...emotional state.

“I, uh, I have to measure your inseam now.”

“All right, then. Go ahead.” The tourist was inspecting himself in the mirror, apparently with some approval. “This is an excellent green, you have a good eye indeed.”

“Thanks. But the inseam, it's, um, the inside of your leg. I need you to move your feet apart a bit. It might be kinda weird.”

“Trust me, it takes much more to make me uncomfortable.” He shifted as Bobby had requested, and Bobby laid the measuring tape along the inside of his leg, trying very hard not to look or touch anywhere inappropriate.

Fingers brushed along the top of his head and he tensed, biting his lip. Was the guy going to try to grab him or something? Now was _not_ the time for an incident report, but no, it was just the lightest touch. Bobby shifted awkwardly in his crouch, trying to conceal the fact that his work pants were suddenly feeling somewhat tighter.

“That is a lovely shade of blue.”

Not aggressive. Not grabbing. Just...touchy. “Oh, um, you think so? Thanks. Um. Do you prefer a tapered leg on your pants?”

“That would be ideal.”

“Ok, good.” The touch had gone away momentarily, but now it returned, feather-light along his part, as he wrote down the seam measurements on his notepad. “I assume you'll need underwear, do you, um, do you prefer boxers or briefs?”

“I prefer to go without, actually. But thank you for asking.”

His mouth went completely dry.

“Blue is a good color for you. I wonder if the same shade would look good on me.”

 _Oh, I_ bet _it would._ He scrambled to his feet, stammered, “I'll, I'll be right back with pants,” and hurried out of the fitting room again, hoping desperately that nobody looking at him too closely or tried to talk to him. Pants were easier to pick out, since _clearly_ black was the best color to go with and most black pants looked the same, and he snagged a belt and a pair of shoes that looked like they were the right size.

By the time he got back to the fitting room he was breathing heavily from practically running laps around the department, and he leaned against the wall next to the door panting until he heard the tourist say, “Have you found trousers? Bring them in, I would like your opinion on this shirt.”

“Be right there.” He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Hot German Tourist Guy was trying on the last shirt, a satiny cobalt-colored thing that fit like an incredibly sexy glove. “Here, I brought pants, just black ones, I didn't think you wanted brown or khaki or anything, and I got you a belt and shoes...”

He trailed off as the tourist smiled at him, slowly, and did up a final button. “That is much appreciated, thank you. Set them down, please.”

“Right, yes, of course.” Belt and shoes went on the bench, pants on another hook next to the shirts. “That shirt looks good on you, blue is definitely your color.”

“It was a good selection for you to make. I have always been partial to blue.”

“So I'll just step outside while you—”

The tourist reached out to brush his cheek gently. “You are blushing.”

“Um, well, yes, I guess I am, sometimes I get—”

“Do you find me attractive?”

He wanted to say something reasonable and sane like _Sir, that's not appropriate_ or another serious professional thing, but the feel of the tourist's fingertips tracing the line of his jaw was too distracting to handle, too intimate for professionalism, and so he looked down and said, “Um, yes. Yes I do.”

Long fingers slid back into his hair, a cool palm against his earlobe, and then the tourist, seeming very suddenly much closer to him, said, “What a coincidence. I find you attractive too. Why don't you stay in here, and we'll talk about that?”

“Oh. Um. I, um, that's not...” Bobby looked back up, looked into green eyes again and found himself completely lost for words. He tried to speak, faltered, and then tried again. “I can't just, I mean, I'm working. I could get fired.”

“But danger is what makes life...exciting, yes, Bobby?” In the tourist's voice, his name was new, filled with heat and suggestion. “Blue hair. Pierced tongue. You are brave. You are always taking chances.”

“Well, um...” His knees were trembling. “You have to understand, I don't normally, that is, I'm not that kind of...” The tourist's mouth met his and he shut his eyes, melting as he felt the brush of a tongue against his lower lip. The kiss was so fleeting it could have almost been a dream, but a dream that left him breathless and barely able to say, “I'm not saying _no,_ not that at all, but this is a really bad idea-ah...” and he gasped as lips touched his throat.

The tourist laughed into the side of his neck. “Without bad ideas life would not be worth living. Trust me, I should know.”

 _This is so hot, this is_ so _hot, this is stupid levels of hot and_ such _a bad plan and I am_ so _going to get fired if someone catches us, I'll be in so much trouble..._ he thought, and then, right after that, _oh, what the hell. I've probably made worse decisions, hell, my whole last relationship was a worse decision than this._ “What, ah, what do you, what would you—”

“I think,” said the tourist, and his breath was cool on Bobby's ear, “I think I would like for you to measure my inseam again. I am sure your, ah, silver tongue makes things _very_ interesting.”

“Um, ok, I can do that,” and even though he _knew_ , he really knew that this was a terrible idea that could get him in all kinds of trouble Bobby sank to his knees and started to unlace the other man's pants with shaking hands.

He got the laces open and didn't give himself enough time to really look, because if he looked properly then the full weight of _this is a bad idea_ would come crashing down and ruin everything, so instead he bent forward and ran his tongue along the bottom of the other man's cock and was pleased when he heard the breathing above him quicken. “Ah, yes...” Long fingers snaked into his hair, and he reached up to grab the other man's hips for support as he sucked the whole shaft into his mouth.

It seemed like it was very quick while simultaneously lasting forever, a momentary eternity of hands twisted in his hair and cock thrusting into his mouth and harsh breathing above his head. He was hard too, which made it a little difficult to focus except for an insane head-voice reminding him that _you can't disappoint the customer_ , which was a phrasing he found a little dismaying when he tried, briefly, to think about it. Then, though, the grip tightened and there was an explosion of heat and salt and an unexpected sweetness in his mouth, and he swallowed it and pulled back, gasping for breath. The other man pulled him to his feet and leaned down, nipping at the side of his neck again as a hand went down the front of his pants and into his boxers to stroke. That was quick too, because at this point the mere touch of a hand on his cock was enough to set Bobby shuddering, and it didn't take long before he stifled a moan and wilted against the tourist's shoulder while the other man drew his hand up to lick the stickiness off it.

“I, I hope this doesn't...make you think I'm...easy or something.” He slumped back against the wall of the fitting room and tried desperately to straighten his clothes out while the tourist pulled on a new pair of pants from the pile he'd brought. _Oh, this isn't going to be fun to go back to work in. I'm going to have to buy clean boxers on my break._

“No, of course not. I have always appreciated a talented tongue.” The tourist pulled on socks and the new shoes, which seemed to fit surprisingly well for a size Bobby had guessed, and calmly pulled the tags off the clothes he was wearing. “I will wear these out, and take the others that you brought me as well.”

“Ok...” Bobby took the shoebox and the small stack of tags. _Oh god, what do I say now, what now, “Hey I just met you and this is crazy but I was just sucking your cock please don't think I'm a whore,”_ “Are you, um, still interested in that personal tour of the town? Lunch, parks, maybe a museum?”

He heard a small noise, and raised his eyes shyly to see that the tourist looked surprised and pleased. “That would be very pleasant. I would like to see some of this area, and I think perhaps more of you.”

“Good. Here.” Crouching, Bobby grabbed his pen from where it had fallen to the floor and quickly wrote his phone number on the back of the tourist's hand. “My last name is Clark. Bobby Clark. Are you free midday tomorrow?”

“Lukas Himmelwander. Luke. I should be.”

“Well, you're staying with my cousin Shelly and her friend, right? So I know where to find you. I'll come pick you up, and we can go see the sights.”

“Excellent. It is a date.” The tourist ( _no, Luke, has to be Luke now, right?_ ) gathered up everything, old clothes and new, and headed for the door.

“Great!” Bobby beamed and scrambled after him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in case anything showed and trying to get his tie straight again.

As he emerged from the fitting room he heard someone whistle, and Shelly ran over. “Oh my god Bobby you didn't just—I mean you can't— _what happened to 'I refuse to reinforce demeaning stereotypes about the promiscuity of modern gay men'?_ ”

What could he say? _“He's totally hot”? “I got a little overexcited”? “Stranger things have happened”? “None of your business, I know what you did with that French guy last summer when your boyfriend was out of town”?_

He sighed, staring after Luke as one of the other tourists hollered something in German. “He was very persuasive. I'm in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts? This one isn't particularly explicit, but they get rather more so.
> 
> ...also is that the lamest "Call Me Maybe" reference ever? I hope not.


	2. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's date in an alternate universe takes him to a deserted history museum, and he can't help but take advantage of having some privacy and a preserved nineteenth-century bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...more sex! With a lot more conversation leading up to it this time!

Bobby took Luke to lunch at his favorite cafe, and then afterward they got ice cream at the Ben and Jerry's place nearby and wandered through the town side by side, looking at statues and historic buildings and walking through the three different parks.

“Oh, here, stop. We should go in here.” He tugged on Luke's arm, diverting them towards a discreet building on the corner outside one of the parks.

Luke looked up at the sign. “An art gallery?”

“Yeah. This is, um, they have some of my paintings here. I haven't sold any yet, but they're on display.” He blushed. “That is if you want to see.”

“Of course, certainly. This is an excellent tour of your town. It is very pretty here.”

The gallery was quiet and cool, and Luke complimented Bobby's paintings with a pleasure that seemed genuine, and Bobby shifted nervously, trying to bite down the urge to say stupid things. _You're beautiful. I want to paint you. Can I follow you back to Germany, this country sucks. Your accent is sexy. Yesterday was totally not the kind of thing I ever do but last night I dreamed about blowing you. Let's skip all the tourist stuff and go make out on a park bench._ All of which would either sound desperate and clingy or make him look like a total slut, so he didn't say them, instead countering Luke's questions about art with questions about stage magic, which seriously had to be the coolest job ever.

When they got to the gallery Luke turned to him and smiled and Bobby felt like he could go blind. “Where to now, Bobby?”

“Um, do you like history? Or ghost stories? We could go to the Truman House, that's always fun.”

“The Truman House?”

“It's a house museum. You know, displays in the halls, preserved rooms from like three hundred years ago. Things like that. It's got a big garden, and it's really pretty. Everyone thinks it's haunted. Plus it's just open and there aren't any tours on Friday afternoons because a lot of people go to the city for the weekend, so we'll have the place to ourselves.”

“That sounds highly enjoyable. I always like having privacy.” Luke shot him a conspiratorial smile, and Bobby shivered.

Luke's hand came to rest on his knee as they were driving out to the Truman House, which made it a little difficult to concentrate on the road. They parked the car, and the taller man leaned over across the transmission and kissed him, licking into Bobby's mouth and biting his lower lip. When he pulled back Bobby was gasping and flushed. “I mean, if you wanted to go...somewhere else, you could have just said so.”

“No, no.” Luke's eyes were gleaming in a way Bobby remembered from the fitting room the day before. “Let us see the gardens and the house.”

It was hard to focus on the garden with Luke right next to him, but that was ok, because Bobby had seent it all before. The Truman House was one of his favorite places in town; it was always the first place he visited after returning from another year at prep school, and he knew all of its paths by heart. He'd even, briefly, considered taking up botany, and so he talked about the flowers and herbs while beside him Luke breathed in the sweetly-scented air, looking very much at peace.

They got to the end of the garden path, and Bobby glanced up to see that his companion was staring into the distance, a tense look on his face. “Um, are you ok? I haven't done anything to upset you, have I?”

Luke seemed to snap out of it and smiled down at him. “No, I am fine. Just lost in a memory. There was a garden like this where I grew up, with a beautiful orchard. My brother and I used to play there, and the woman who cared for it would give us slices of apple when we grew tired.”

“Your brother...that's the blonde one with the beard, right? The one who's really loud?”

“That is him.”

“He looks like the guys who used to beat me up at prep school.”

“He would not hurt you. He is a kind man.” Luke sighed. “Stupid. Very stupid. But kind.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and it was almost awkward, so Bobby said, “Let's go in. I'll give you a tour. A real tour, too, not an official tour. The official ones are super boring. You get the Bobby Clark Awesome Ghosts And Art Special.”

Luke laughed and allowed himself to be pulled along into the house as Bobby took a deep breath and began his “tour.” “The Truman House was originally built in 1654 by this rich Dutch guy who'd made a ton exploiting Indians in the fur trade...”

They went through the house room by room as Bobby rattled off all the interesting history of the house—the names of the people in the portraits, for example, and the Hudson River artists who'd stayed there, and the ghost stories attached to each room. Nobody else seemed to be around, so he could talk as much as he wanted to and not get shushed by tourists or the snooty girls from the historical society who came to clean sometimes. They stopped for breath on the second floor, and then Bobby carefully opened the door to his favorite room. “This is the best room in the place. It's the master bedroom. There was a murder here in 1894, and everyone says the woman who got killed still shows up in the middle of the night to brush her hair.”

“Exciting. Do you know why she was killed?” Luke looked over the silver brushes and combs on the vanity table with some interest.

“Not conclusively, everyone's got a different idea, but I think the consensus is that her husband found out she'd been having an affair with the butler. _He_ haunts the wine cellar.” Bobby sighed happily and spun in a circle. “What I've always wanted to know is if any of this furniture is actually comfortable, but you're not even supposed to touch it.”

“Well, there is no one here to stop us now.” He heard a creak behind him and turned to see Luke sitting down on the edge of the bed. The other man patted a spot beside him. “Why not try it?”

“Shit, we're gonna get in so much trouble.” But he sat anyway, sinking slightly into the bed. “Wow. This is actually really nice. I wonder why they'd keep a decent mattress in a house that nobody lives in?”

“Perhaps it is for the ghostly lovers to retreat to after they have scared their quota of tourists.”

“Oh my god, that's totally it! _'Whoo...whoo...ok, are they gone? Let's go get it on.'_ That _has_ to be it!”

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he found himself suddenly pulled into another kiss, longer than the one in the car and accompanied by a hand sliding up and under his t-shirt to brush one of his nipples. He gasped into Luke's mouth and grabbed at the front of the other man's shirt with both hands as he was pressed back into the pillows ( _again, suprisingly soft if no one sleeps here_ ). When their mouths came apart he laughed breathlessly. “You just love making out in public places, don't you?”

“I have always enjoyed an element of risk in everything I do.” Luke smiled down at him, dark hair falling in his eyes. “Besides, I think maybe we should reclaim this bed for the use of the living. We have more right to it than the dead do.”

“Oh my god...you're crazy, aren't you? You're actually crazy.”

“That's certainly not an incorrect statement.” Again there was that glint in his eye. “Do you want me to stop? I won't do anything you don't want me to do,” although even as he said it his hand was stroking lazily under Bobby's shirt.

“ _Oh..._ no, no, don't stop, I've actually always...wanted to take a date here. But Leo never wanted to go with me.”

“Leo? That is your ex?”

“Yeah. He's a jerk. Let's not talk about him.” Bobby tugged Luke down for another kiss, working his sneakers off as he did so he could pull his legs onto the bed.

For a few moments they said nothing, no words being necessary in the contact of mouth on mouth, on neck and collarbone, of tongue tracing the edge of ear. The air seemed to grow almost unbearably warm between them, and the cool hand on him moved over his stomach and down and _oh my god nobody should be able to just undo a belt buckle with one hand like that_ and there was a hand in his jeans and he made a small _“oh.”_

“I want to have you here.” Luke's mouth was next to his ear. “Let us make the ghostly lovers jealous with our lovemaking.”

“ _Oh..._ what if, what if someone catches us?” The hand on his cock was moving in a way that made it very hard to concentrate.

“No one will catch us. We are the only ones here.” Luke slid his other arm out from under Bobby and pressed him closer to the pillows. “And if we _are_ overheard, we will give them a haunting to remember. They will tell tales of us for centuries to come.”

“The...the gay ghosts of the Truman House...” He giggled and then bit his lip to keep from crying out. “You could use your magic tricks to make us invisible.”

“I could at that. I could hide us so well that even were a tour to arrive while I was inside you they would see nothing, though they heard our cries plain as day.”

At the word _inside_ Bobby had gone tense, and he said, “Wait. Please.”

Luke paused from where he was undoing his own belt, moving his hand away from Bobby's lap. “Do you want me to stop? I will stop, I do not want to force you into anything.”

“Wait, no, that's not what I meant.” He let go of the other man's shirt and pulled himself up into a sitting position. “It's just that this is my, I mean, I haven't actually...”

Luke's eyes lit with pleasure and amusement. “Really? Not at all?”

“No.” Bobby could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, Leo always wanted to, but he was so... _pushy_ that I never felt ready.”

“Well, if you do not feel ready—”

“No! No. I want this, now, even though doing this here is totally a bad plan. I want _you._ I just...thought you should know. Oh my god, and I just met you yesterday, you must think I'm a total slut.”

“I do not make such assumptions. You are blushing again.” Luke reached out and stroked Bobby's cheek gently. “I am very flattered.”

“Um...good?”

“Yes. Good. You have paid me a great compliment, offered me a gift without price. I have not received such a gift in some time. Shall we resume, then? I promise it will be...memorable.”

He trailed one finger down the side of Bobby's neck, and Bobby breathed sharply. “That sounds like a plan.”

“Then lead the way.”

Tentatively Bobby tugged Luke's tie open and then reached for the buttons on the other man's shirt and started to undo them, revealing a chest that he objectively already knew was flat and smooth and muscled like a dancer's. He'd seen it before, of course, but fitting someone was different from deliberately undressing them—he'd tried for ages to dissociate fitting from sex, even though he'd failed spectacularly at it yesterday. Seeing it now was a new experience, and he almost felt that he could go blind from want staring at the man in front of him and running his hands over cool skin. Hesitantly he reached and traced one nipple lightly with the tips of his fingers, and was gratified to hear the other man's breathing change.

For a moment they just watched each other, and then Bobby brushed his fingers down Luke's chest and stomach until he was at the other man's belt, already partially undone. _I know he's not wearing anything under there, which means that all I have to do is get this open and undo the zipper and_ there was what he hadn't _really_ seen at all yesterday, Luke's cock, erect. It wasn't anything special in and of itself, he'd seen erections before, but context was everything and he was breathtaken. It sort of scrambled his brain, actually, so he did what he'd mostly done before in reasonably similar situations and licked his lips rather coyly, shifting forward and down to get a mouthful as one long-fingered hand twisted spasmodically in the back of his shirt.

That only went on for a moment before he found himself pulled up and pinned against the bed while Luke kissed him and licked his neck and wrestled his jeans down so that all of a sudden he found himself bare-assed against the smooth fabric of the antique bedspread _in the master bedroom in the Truman House which is a public building, someone is totally going to walk in on us and I am more ok with that than I probably should be. I think my brain might be melting._ There was no time or space in his head to worry; the other man was stroking his cock as his other hand slid down to tickle, it felt like, at his ass. He gasped and clawed at the back of Luke's shirt.

Luke's voice in his ear said, “You want this. You give yourself to me freely.”

“Yes... _oh..._ yes I do...”

“Here. Now.”

_In a public building. Oh, fuck it, why not._ “Yes...”

“Good. I wanted to be sure.” Luke let go of him for a moment, reached into his pocket to pull something out and set it out of sight, and then grabbed Bobby's hips and flipped him over. Bobby thought, _shit, this is it, isn't it_ , but it wasn't, instead he started and gripped the bedspread tightly as he felt a lick, felt the tip of Luke's tongue trace around his asshole and dart in warm and wet. _“Oh_ my god that's...that feels _good..._ ”

Luke made an amused _hmm_ noise, and the vibration of it got another little noise out of Bobby, and he completely lost the ability to speak for a few moments, too caught up in the feeling of warmth and wetness.

Then Luke stopped, and Bobby made a little _mmph_ of protest even as Luke's mouth next to his ear said, “Get up and take your clothes off. I want to watch you.”

“Ok...” He nodded and stood up, legs quivering, and when he looked over at Luke the other man was watching him with eyes full of heat and want, one hand wrapped around his own cock. The air from the screened window was cool on his skin, and he found himself abruptly grateful that the door to the room had somehow swung shut as he slowly pulled his t-shirt off over his head, toed off his socks, stepped out of his jeans and boxers completely and left them in a pile on the floor. He could feel Luke watching him as he stripped, but try as he might he couldn't make it as sexy as he'd seen in movies, not that _trying_ to be sexy seemed relevant right now.

Luke groaned quietly and reached forward, grabbing Bobby's bare hips as he stood up, and Bobby was suddenly reminded of how much taller the other man was. He felt dwarfed, and somewhat exposed given that Luke was still mostly dressed, although his shirt and pants were open, but his nerves (and ability to think clearly) were lost when Luke said, “Oh, you are a fine thing...” and leaned down and lightly bit his neck where it met his collarbone. He let out a noise that was almost certainly a squeak.

The hands on his hips gripped tightly as they spun together and Luke lifted him up and set him on the edge of the bed, nudging his legs apart with one knee and moving in so that their cocks brushed. Then he let go, and Bobby clung to his shirt, licking the first skin within reach (a nipple) as Luke did something out of sight with his hands and then there was a finger, smooth and cool with lube (from where, Bobby did not wonder), sliding into his ass until it pressed against a spot that made him briefly forget how to breathe. The finger slid in and out, in and out, and was joined by another, and then a third, gently sliding and stretching him the entire time.

Then it stopped, the fingers went away, and Bobby was about to protest when Luke said, “Breathe deep. This may for a moment feel strange,” and something that was _not_ a finger, something long and hard and hot entered him instead.

There was stillness, Bobby wide-eyed perched on the edge of the bed with Luke inside him, not moving. “What should I...is there something I should do?”

“If you like.” Luke had a strange expression on his face. “I have...a nickname. My friends call me Loki. Call me that. Call me Loki.”

“Like the god? Loki?”

“ _Yes,_ precisely like that. Like the god.” He shifted in a way that made Bobby see stars. “Call me Loki. Worship me. Ask me for this.”

_That's a little strange, but I suppose there are a lot of stranger things in the world. I guess I don't really know how to pray, but I can improvise._ He looked up at the other man through his eyelashes and smiled. “Please, Loki. Please do this for me.”

The other man groaned and reached between them to grab his cock. “Please what? What do you want me to do?”

“Please fuck me, Loki. _Please._ ” The other man began to thrust into him and to pump his cock and Bobby gasped. “ _Please_ , Loki, please _oh my god that feels good_ , fuck me, please fuck me so hard I can't even walk, _please, Loki..._ ”

“ _Yes...”_ Luke slid his free hand up to grab the back of Bobby's neck and kissed him, hard, shoving his tongue in and biting his lip. “ _Yes,_ you have asked it of me and I will do this for you.”

Bobby tried to keep it up, tried to keep talking but the words broke down until all he could manage was random syllables, a glossolalia of sex as Luke fucked him and the bed shook and he came hot on the other man's stomach, and the other man was not far behind him, his grip tightening on Bobby's neck as Bobby felt the cock in his ass pulse and spill and he shouted _“Loki!”_

After that the silence was sudden and seemed long as they stayed locked together, and then Bobby breathed shakily. “We've made sort of a mess.”

“True.” Luke _(Loki)_ looked down at him, gaze warm, as he shifted back and pulled out. “Perhaps we should clean up.”

“Good plan. Don't want to leave stains on the antiques.” Bobby leaned forward and licked the streak of his come off the other man's flat stomach, drawing a gasp and a shaky laugh, and when it was all gone Luke helped him dress and he helped do up all of Luke's clothes, because neither of them were quite coordinated enough now to manage alone.

“So was it memorable?” Luke said as they headed out of the Truman House and made for the car.

“Oh, _hell_ yes.” It was actually hard to walk, and Bobby stumbled and Luke had to catch him. “And it's getting on in the afternoon. Wanna go get burgers before I drop you off?”

“That sounds superb.”


	3. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Bobby go to a bar, watch _Thor_ , and then get it on at some length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warnings: this chapter contains some impressively non-graphic violence (not connected with the sex), a little bit of light bondage (to taste), some potentially weird religious overtones (if that worries you), and a surprising amount of plot (that is, there's plot). And a sexy, sexy blue guy!

The Bookhouse was dim and not very crowded, and Loki and Bobby were able to get seats in a corner without much trouble. They ordered drinks and sat side by side at the wall bench, Loki trailing his fingers across the back of Bobby's neck just to make him twitch. He was enjoying toying with this young mortal; he had not had such congenial company in ages, and the focussed attention was doing wonders for his health.

“I figure if we get drinks first you won't notice how lame my Pad Thai is.” Bobby laughed nervously, fingering one of the hoops in his ears. “I just hope Leo doesn't show up. He used to love it here. That could be...ugly.”

“I am sure that if he does we will find a way to deal with it.”

After a few minutes of inconsequential chatter Loki felt a pressing urge and excused himself to find the bathroom, where he huddled in a stall for a moment while his reviving magic shuddered and crackled in his eyes and under his skin. It hurt, like knitting bones but sharper, and as he splashed his face with cold water he realized that he had this world to thank for it, this world with its pervasive fervency of belief. In their own world, he and his unwilling companions were real and could be doubted; here, they were legends.

As he emerged from the bathroom he saw another man of about Bobby's age enter the bar, look around, and make straight for where Bobby was seated. He was tall and broad and had vividly red hair pulled back into a long ponytail, and he moved with a predatory grace that Loki respected. When he reached the table he simply sat down next to Bobby, slinging a proprietary arm around the smaller man's shoulders and leaning over to speak quietly in his ear.

_This must be Leo,_ Loki thought with some interest, as he watched Bobby go pale and tense and stammer some reply, and he used a touch of his fresh magic to sharpen his hearing.

“--I'm, I'm not actually here alone, Leo.”

“Hah. Did you bring your cousin along? Afraid I might break _her_ arm this time? She'd deserve it. She wouldn't give me your new phone number. I _miss_ you, Bobby.”

“N-no. I'm actually, I'm on a date.”

“Really. You found a new cock to suck.” Leo laughed quietly, and Loki was almost impressed to see how much he had already cowed the man he sat with. “I bet he likes your piercing.” He had put a hand on Bobby's knee, and now he traced up stomach and chest and neck to grip the other man's jaw lightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why don't you ditch him and come home with me? We can get...reacquainted.”

That was certainly enough. Loki dropped the spell and headed over to the table, putting one hand lightly on Leo's shoulder. “You are getting very familiar with my date.”

Bobby brightened minutely. “H-hey, Luke!”

There were eyes on them as Leo stood, lips curling into something that was only half a smile as he slid one foot out to the side in a stance that clearly anticipated a fight. “What are you doing with my boyfriend?”

“You must be Leo. He said you broke up, what, almost a year ago now?”

“Bobby says a lot of things he doesn't mean. So how about you fuck off? I don't like other people touching my stuff.”

“Funny.” Loki could feel the other people in the bar watching them. They wanted a show, and Leo clearly wanted a beating, and he would be happy to oblige. “I often say the same thing myself.”

“The hell do you mean by that?” Leo curled one hand into a fist.

“To use your own charming phrase, fuck off.” He flicked one hand in a condescending gesture of dismissal. “You are bothering my date.”

Snarling, Leo threw a punch at him, but Loki had the advantage of height, weight, and a level head and side-stepped, catching the red-haired man as he stumbled and sweeping him up like they were dancing. “I am a jealous man, Leo.” The strike he landed was barely visible, but the bar had gone silent and all eyes were on them, all ears were listening to the crack as Leo's arm broke at the elbow and he screamed. “I was told you like broken bones.” He let go, and the other man stumbled back into an empty table, panting, his arm bent unnaturally. “That is a gift for your collection, and a lesson to you.”

“The fuck kind of a lesson was that? You broke my _arm,_ asshole!”

“I did indeed.” He swept a low bow, and when he was close enough to the fallen man he whispered, “Don't touch my stuff.”

The entire bar was silent and staring. Loki reached into his pocket with another touch of magic and pulled out a roll of bills which he dropped on their table. “Use that to pay for your hospital bill and our drinks. You may want to hurry, to ensure that the arm does not heal crooked. Come on, Bobby, you have promised me Pad Thai, and the air of this place is now distasteful to me.”

Leo stood shakily as they walked toward the door. “Get the fuck back here, asshole, I'll bury you!” He turned to the other people in the bar. “You saw that, right? You saw what that psycho did to me!”

As one the other bar patrons shook their heads, and the bartender said, “We didn't see anything. Tell your dad I say hi, Bobby. I like your new boyfriend.”

Some wag at the juke box put on a song about a man named Leroy Brown, and at Loki's side Bobby choked down a hysterical giggle as they stepped outside.

When they got to the car Bobby slumped against the steering wheel and said, “So I guess Shelly told you about my arm.”

“She did. She threatened to gut me, actually. She is very concerned for your safety.”

“Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. She gets a little overprotective.”

“No, I quite understand. It is good to have family members who care about you.” Loki tried to hide his wince even as he said it. “Let us go have dinner. I am eager to see your home.”

Bobby's home turned out to be a snug one-story guesthouse on the grounds that his parents owned, tucked into a stand of trees somewhat away from what he called the “tacky ancestral mess.” Inside, the walls were hung with paintings, many of them his own work, and the floor of the tiny front hall in which they left their shoes was covered in handmade hooked rugs which he said he'd gotten from a friend in college. “She said it gave her something to relax with when she wasn't swearing at building plans.”

“She is an architect?”

“Yeah. She works for her dad's firm now. I don't have a real job yet because even if you went to the Pratt Institute a degree in painting doesn't do much. Lucky my folks are rich, right? Here, this is the living room. You can pick out a movie for us to watch while I'm cooking.”

The living room was dominated on one side by an enormous couch and on the opposite by an entertainment center containing a large television, two different game consoles, and a wide selection of DVDs. In one corner there was an open door, through which Loki could see a bedroom with a large bed that he _definitely_ approved of. As Bobby headed off to the kitchen to make Pad Thai, he began to look over the movies with a mind to properly soundtracking a memorable seduction.

There was not much choice on that front; his date seemed more a fan of action and adventure than of romance. He briefly considered something called _Moulin Rouge_ , skipped entirely over several spy dramas, and then lit on a title near the end of one shelf that gave him pause.

_Thor._

He pulled it off the shelf, and his brother stared at him from the cover, poised as if ready for battle. Arrayed behind Thor were his insipid mortal girlfriend, the Allfather, Heimdall...and himself, smiling wickedly. He frowned, and then set it down beside the television. _Not an ideal choice, but it should be interesting. I suppose I am missing the chance to question Carol, as the others are tonight._

“Hey, could you come in here? I need a little help.”

“Coming.”

The required help turned out to be cracking an egg into the pan while Bobby stirred, and a few minutes later they returned to the living room with bowls of pleasantly fragrant noodles and meat and glasses of wine. Bobby set his things down on the coffee table and turned to set up the movie. “Oh, hey, awesome! This is one of my favorites. Have you seen it before?”

“I have not.” Loki settled onto the couch, bowl in hand. “Is it good?”

“It's great. And the main guys are _super_ hot. One of them actually looks a lot like you.” Bobby got the movie started and came to sit next to him, leaning comfortably against his shoulder. “You'll love it.”

The movie was not good. It was true. Loki watched the story unfold tensely, recognizing every word said in Asgard and not wanting to hear them again. He tried to focus on his food, complimenting the Pad Thai profusely, but his attention kept getting pulled back. On the screen he and his brother ( _actors,_ he reminded himself, _actors playing us_ ) journeyed to Jotunheim and he gritted his teeth, feeling his regrowing magic gathering in his stomach as if he was preparing for a fight. When the film reached his argument with his father (not _my father, just the Allfather_ ) he felt himself chilling. He was too tense, and his magic too unstable. It was damaging the Allfather's already-damaged spell.

“He is seriously the _hottest_ blue guy I have ever seen in a movie. Check out those funky cheek ridges. I wanna lick one.”

Loki tried to remain calm, saying lightly, “And do you see many blue people in movies?”

A contemplative pause. “A surprising number of them, actually. Do you need a blanket or something? You're cold as—oh.” He looked, and the smaller man was staring at him wide-eyed, a tendril of dyed hair falling in his face. “You're...blue. You're _him._ It wasn't just a nickname, you're _Loki._ You're real.”

He cursed silently and dropped the German accent, which he was tired of maintaining anyway. “I am. Loki son of Laufey, Prince of Jotunheim. Loki son of Odin, Prince of Asgard. Loki Liesmith, Loki Shape-thief, Loki Silvertongue, doer of good, doer of evil, father of wolves and serpents. Are you scared?”

“No, I'm not scared.” But the other man was shaking. “How did you get here? Does that mean your friends are also...?”

“They are. There was an accident, and I have not yet regained the power to send us home.” He was biting the words out, hating them as he spoke. “Don't lie to me. I can _smell_ the fear on you. I am evil from a film, a caricature of villainy. You have invited a monster into your home. I could kill you now so quickly that you would barely feel it. _Are you not afraid?_ ”

There was a brief lacuna, a moment of silence as the movie played unwatched in the background, and then Bobby spoke, his voice small. “Do you _want_ to kill me? I thought you liked me.”

Suddenly he felt ashamed, and he looked down and away. “I do like you. I have no desire to hurt you.”

The smaller man let out a shaky breath. “W-well, then we're ok.”

They continued to watch until it was again too painful, which was not very long, and he looked away from the screen. He felt a hand on the small of his back, and heard Bobby's voice. “ _Wow_ you're cold. Are you all right? You're, um, still blue.”

“I am not enjoying this movie. It hits rather too close to home.”

“We can stop watching if you want.” A few clicks, and the television shut off. “...is it all true?”

“All of the parts with me in them so far. I could not tell you if the other parts are true, I was not there.”

“What about in the new movie, in _Avengers_?”

“I presume so. I haven't seen it. But everything else so far has been upsettingly accurate.”

“Do you still want to take over the world?”

He laughed bitterly. “I never wanted the world. The Other, Death's swain, _he_ wants the world, and he wanted to use me to get it. I just wanted to be looked at and seen as something other than my brother's shadow. I am a god as much as he is. I will admit that I got carried away; I don't always think things through very well.” He sighed, and at the touch of his breath the edge of the coffee table frosted over. “I miss the old times, when gods and men alike appreciated a good joke at the expense of the mighty and arrogant. Things were easier when I was worshipped. I miss the devotion of people who knew my purpose.”

The couch creaked, and the soft hand left his back, and then, unexpectedly, he felt hands on his shoulders and a tongue tracing one of the ridges on his cheek. “Well, hell, if _that's_ all you want, _I'll_ worship you. I like you a lot, you obviously need some company, and I'm _good_ at being devoted. Leo used to make fun of me for it, he said it was like having a puppy.”

That drew a laugh from him. “ _Are_ you, now? But do you know what dedication to the god of mischief entails?”

“No.” The breath on his ear was almost unbearably hot. “Why don't you tell me about it and I'll see what I can manage?”

“Very well.” He got up, moving almost too fast for mortal eyes to see, and when he had settled again he had the younger man flat on his back on the couch and Loki was over him, knees planted on either side of his narrow hips, hands next to his head. He leaned down to whisper, “I want you to grift and con and cozen and trick and befuddle and steal in my name. I want you to cast doubt into the minds of the lofty and self-righteous. I want you to trip the mighty and dedicate their humiliations to me. I want you to light fires for me and laugh as they burn down the houses of the law. I want your cleverness and your cunning, and when you have no more of that to give I want you on your knees in supplication, and perhaps I will come to inspire you to greater heights of trickery.”

He smiled, and Bobby stared at him, eyes all pupil now, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Loki had grown warm himself, the chill leeching from his skin as he spoke, and so he shifted to press his erection against Bobby's stomach. “Those are the basic tenets of my worship. Do they sound agreeable to you?”

Mute, the other man nodded.

“Good. Now, as for the rites of dedication...you do want to hear about those, don't you?” Another breathless nod, and he was enjoying this far too much, but then he didn't seem to be the only one, if the answering hardness beneath him was anything to go by. “I haven't personally dedicated anyone in some time, and rites vary, but as _your_ dedication I think I will ruin you for all other lovers.” He moved one hand to Bobby's shirt and began popping the buttons off one by one, not even bothering to try to undo them properly. “I want you undone and gasping with my name a prayer on your lips.” All the buttons were gone now, and so he tweaked an exposed nipple and was pleased to see Bobby breathe in sharply. “We have no temple or altar, more's the pity, but your room and your bed will do as a substitute. I want you bound like a sacrifice, I want you naked, and I want you to pray.”

Bobby swallowed hard, finally regaining speech. “What do you want me to pray for?”

“Why, to be taken into my service, of course. And if you ask _very_ nicely I will accept.”

“That's, that sounds, _oh,_ that sounds good, I can do that. We can do that.”

They left Bobby's shirt on the couch and made it across the living room and through the bedroom door half-blind with lust, barely pausing to turn on the lights because these rites were not for shame or silence or darkness. Bobby's hands on him were frantic, fumbling at buttons and cufflinks and belt until Loki got frustrated and caught both of his wrists in one hand, holding them tightly as he tried to undo the fastenings himself and then got frustrated again and risked some magic to whisk all their clothes away into a corner.

They were bare, and Bobby swallowed again and said, “There's, uh...on the nightstand there's...”

Loki looked over to where he was gesturing and saw a bottle of lubricant between the lamp and a box of tissues, amid a scattering of loose change and undone neckties. “Good.” His own voice felt thick in his throat. “But not yet.”

“Ok...” Shaky, Bobby fell back onto the bed, pulling Loki with him, and when their lips finally met it felt like an explosion, the weight of arousal pressing down on them both.

They pulled apart, and Loki wound his fingers through the smaller man's hair and said, “Do you wish to leave this world and serve me? You have only to ask me and I will give you my dominion. It is a gift I offer few.” He licked slowly at the exposed neck.

“Yes. Please let...let me serve you, Loki...”

“Well, then, if you are to be dedicated you must be both the priest and the sacrifice, and as a sacrifice you must be bound.” Swiftly Loki grabbed one of the abandoned neckties he'd seen and tied Bobby's slim wrists to the posts at the headboard of the bed. For a few moments they did not speak as Loki amused himself with enjoyable torments, holding his companion ( _lover,_ a part of him thought briefly) down by his hips to lick and suck and bite and stroke and Bobby could only watch him, whimpering with arousal.

Inside him his magic quirked, began to uncoil along his arms and legs. “I will ask you again. Do you want to be mine?”

“I do, Loki, I want to be yours...” The smaller man was writhing beneath him, breathing hard, his legs shifting in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of friction, some small gratification. Magic crackled electric in his bones, regrowing violently fast with this worship.

Finally, the pressure in his own groin became too much to continue teasing, and his ears were filled with an unbearable tinnitus of arousal and magic. He snatched the bottle from the nightstand and squeezed lubricant into his hand, anointed himself, slid two slick fingers into the tight hole that he had not yet touched. His lover/priest/sacrifice/worshipper gasped, and he said, “I will ask you a third time, and that will be the seal of it. Do you want to be taken into my service, and be ruled by me forever?”

“ _Yes._ ” Bobby bucked his hips, back arching. “ _Please,_ Loki, I _want_ you, take me, have me, fuck me, _Loki, please, god..._ ”

“I accept.” Smoothly he removed his fingers and thrust in, groaning low as he did. Now was no longer the time for control; he began to rut, thrusting hard and fast as beneath him the smaller man babbled an incoherent stream of prayers and supplications, and in response to them he spoke as well, though he was barely conscious of what he said, words could not compete with the sensations of sex and magic until he growled “ _Say it,_ ” and howled like a wolf as he spent and beneath him Bobby was undone too and shouted his name, “Loki, Loki, Loki,” and all three colored bulbs in the lamp next to the bed blew at once.

For a moment after they lay silent, together, breathing in air that smelled of sex and ozone, and then Loki pulled out, wiped the remaining lubricant from his hand with a tissue and undid the bindings. Freed, Bobby rolled his shoulders and rubbed his wrists and said, “I can still _feel_ you.” In the light from the open living room door his eyes flashed, briefly, an unnatural green.

“None of what I said was fancy or exaggeration.” Done cleaning them both, Loki lay back on the bed and pulled the other man on top of him. “You are mine now, and will be so for as long as you live.”

“Wow.” A pause, and then, “Were the lightbulbs you?”

“They were. I admit that I lost some control near the end there.”

“No shit.” Bobby wriggled, repositioning himself slightly, and traced the edge of one pectoral with his index finger. “I want to paint you.”

“Hm. I have not sat for a portrait in some time. I do need a new one.”

Silence again.

“...what happens when you go home? I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here with me.”

“No. I must go. This world is not for me, and I am not for it. Things move too slow here for me to be happy, and events are too small.”

“But I'll miss you.”

Loki smirked. “Do you think I would let you escape my service so easily? I will take you with me, though we will have to keep it from your overprotective cousin. My bed is rather bigger than this one, and just as soft. You can fill my home with art; I should have enough space for a studio you can work in when you are not providing the other services I require.” Bobby snickered at that, and Loki swatted him lightly on the backside. “Don't laugh so. I am not so insatiable that _all_ of your time will be spent in the bedroom. I do have other needs, some of which I believe I did detail to you earlier.” His stomach grumbled unexpectedly. “And then there's that. All this...activity has made me astoundingly hungry, and I believe we finished off the Pad Thai earlier. What else is there to eat?”

“I got chocolate ice cream yesterday when I was buying ingredients.” Bobby frowned contemplatively, and then his eyes lit up, flashing green again. “And I bet if you turn blue again you'd be cold enough for me to eat it off your stomach without it melting everywhere.”

Loki blinked, genuinely surprised. “Really? You would desire that?”

Bobby grinned down at him. “Like I said, hottest blue guy I've ever seen. The cold would take some getting used to, but I think I could manage it. Anyway, if I'm supposed to be your priest now or whatever it wouldn't be fair for me to only get to see half of you.”

“Well, then.” He rolled off the bed, taking Bobby with him, and began to walk to the kitchen with the other man slung over his shoulder, laughing in protest. “We'll have to do something about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. My first excursion into actual sex scenes is at an end, and I hope you enjoyed it. If you _did_ enjoy it, or rather if you liked Bobby, keep an eye out--he'll turn up again.


End file.
